


for happiness the lovers cannot sleep

by CaptainAmelia22



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, More parts to come, Pre-film, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something about Sasha that calls to Aleksis, that day in the Chechen labor camp.</p><p>Something...</p><p>He finds the drift in her midnight blue gaze that day and he knows in an instant that he has to have her.</p><p>One way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for happiness the lovers cannot sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I stole the title from a poem my grandmother used to read to me when I was little. I have no shame. If you're interested it's by the Russian poet Vladimir Nabokov and can be found in the book titled "Poems and Problems." 
> 
> I came late to the Pacific Rim game, mostly thanks to working 35+hour work weeks and dealing with family stuff. But I finally got to see it on Wednesday and boy, let me tell you, I think I died and went to heaven. 
> 
> And me being of Russian decent and in love with anything Russian, I fell instantly in love with Sasha and Aleksis. So naturally I have to write about them.
> 
> I'm hoping this will turn into a multi-parted fic but for now I'll keep this as a one-shot. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> -M

His commanders find his drift partner in a federation labor camp two months after his sister dies and he loathes her at first, for being someone other than Alexia; this woman they seem to think may be his potential copilot is a good ten years younger than he is and has most definitely never even attempted a neural-handshake, let alone actually trained in a Jaeger simulation. But that is not what he hates about her.  She is a criminal-an inmate in Chernokozovo SIZO one of the most brutal prisons the Russian government maintains; it is the last outpost on the way to Hell, many say with a superstitious wave of their hands and even that is not reason enough to hate her.  

He simply hates her because she is not his sister.  

As they stand in the middle of the labor camp’s filthy Jaeger factory, he realizes the slip of a woman standing before him is as far from Alexia as one broken soul could possibly be-he does not understand what Marshall Izhutin sees in her, why his commanders think this woman will be Alexia Kaidanovskya’s perfect replacement.

She has hair as black as sin on the day he meets her and lips redder than the blood leaking from her cracked and chapped fingers.  

She is constructing the helmet of a massive Mark III Jaeger, one of the strongest the Russian government has ever funded and she does not speak a word to any on her team. Nor does she greet the camp’s warden or the Marshall when they bring him to her station, deep in the bowels of the factory.  

Much to Kaidanovsky’s irritation, she does not even look up from the titanium-alloy she is skillfully welding, when Marshall Izhutin introduces him to her; the Marshall’s eyebrow quirks dangerously as she flicks a sliver of metal from the sleeve of her dark greatcoat but the woman sitting several meters above them does not apologize for her sloppiness.  

“Warden,” the Marshall growls and Kaidanovsky’s blood runs cold at the irritation he hears in the woman’s cold and no-nonsense voice; and still the girl does not even glance away from her work.

She is as focused as he had been when he and Alexia drifted together, so long ago and he finds himself respecting that focus and becoming curious, despite himself and his initial loathing.

_Who is this girl?_

_Why is she here?_

_Is she drift compatible?_

_Really?_

“Volokova, you will greet Marshall Izhutin and Ranger Kaidanovsky or you will bear punishment for your disobedience,” the warden, a bull of a man, barks and Kaidanovsky’s jaw clenches as he watches the black haired woman, wearing nothing but rags and broken welding goggles, finally straighten from her work, setting aside her torch as she does so, upon the Jaeger’s brow.  

She is tiny, even smaller than Alexia had been and he finds himself wondering if she would even fit in a Jaeger’s harness, should she ever get so far as to drop within a console.  

He wonders how long she has been here, in this hell of a prison, what crime she has committed to warrant such a harsh punishment and what she will say when the Marshall tells her she has the ability to wipe slates clean.

Even those as black as this girl’s hair.  

The warden is glaring at his inmate, his jaw clenching further as the silence drags on and Kaidanovsky imagines he can hear the man’s teeth grinding together.  He glances at the girl, his dark brows furrowing with worry and he can feel the Marshall stiffening at his side, drawing herself instinctively to her full height.  

There is something...dangerous about their little group.

And as he meets her dark blue gaze, he realizes it is the girl.

The girl is the most dangerous soul he has ever encountered, including those of the Kaiju he and his sister had killed before her death, and he knows then.

He has to have her in the drift.

He has to know what thoughts lurk behind such a dark gaze.  

He hates her for that longing though.

He will always hate her.

She blinks slowly at him, the corner of her lips twitching upwards in a cold and feral sneer and he knows she is sizing him up as well.

Judging him, as only prisoners can do.  

So, he removes his hat and snaps into a crisp salute his drill sergeant would have been proud of.

A single eyebrow, dark and thin and winged, rises slowly at the sight of his massive figure straightening stiffly before her and she scoffs out a little laugh.

He does not care.

Suddenly, it seems as if they are the only two in this horrific factory; the warden and the Marshall do not matter, her rags do not matter, the Jaeger she stands on does not matter.

The only thing that matters is-

“We are drift compatible, Sasha Volokova,” he snaps, his voice harsh in the chill air of the factory and his tone brooks no argument.

Her other eyebrow rises at that and her red-lipped sneer slips.  

“What?!” she sputters and suddenly her cold and arrogant demeanor is gone, her armor vanishes and he can finally see her now, see who she truly is.

He likes what he sees.

“We are partners, you and I, Sasha, however impossible it may seem,” he says, far more gently and he approaches her cautiously, slowly.  “We are truly drift compatible.”  

He catches hold of her ankle, the only part of her he can reach, despite his impressive height and he tightens his fingers around the cracked and battered leather under his fingers.

She stares at him, her blue eyes wild with panic and he wonders what it is about her that makes her...

His.

“Listen to me Sasha,” he murmurs, his fingers flexing instinctively as the loathing he feels for her combats bitterly with the blatant curiosity raging through his entire being and she swallows nervously.  “Listen, I can-”

She does not let him continue.

In a moment, far faster than he thought a single person could move, she strikes him, her boot twisting free of his fingers to smash heel first into his nose and mouth, bruising the former and splitting the latter, and before he or the warden can stop her, she is slipping free of the Jaeger helm and running away.

“Let her go,” he slurs through the blood streaming from his face.  “Let her think on this.”

His Marshall hands him a handkerchief to sop up the blood and he tilts his head back with a grimace and a sigh, then with a baleful glare in the warden’s direction, he mutters, “For now, let us return to the camp, that way you can tell us what it is exactly, I’ve found in the drift, yes Karokov?”

The warden, his mouth agape and his eyes a little too wide for comfort, simply nods.  “O-of course Ranger.  It would be my p-pleasure.  I will send guards after Volokova and ha-”

Kaidanovsky stops him with a shake of his head and a soft sigh.  “No need Karokov,” he mutters as they make their way through the emptying factory and back to towards the wardens cramped and mildewing office.  “I do not think Sasha will be able to ignore me for long.”

The Marshall and the warden keep their silence with that statement and Kaidanovsky is grateful for that silence.

As they walk, he imagines he can feel the pointed midnight blue gaze of Sasha Volokova upon the back of his neck.

It feels like being immersed once more in the drift, with someone he knows he will always be able to trust.  To fight side-by-side with.

And he does not understand entirely why.

He hates her.

But he cannot stop wondering about her.

 _She will never be Alexia.  Never_ , he thinks as the warden closes the door behind them and the prickling feeling of being watched fades from his skin.

He sits and he does not know if it is because of the depressing thought about his sister or the lost feeling of Sasha’s eyes on his back, but he has never felt more alone.

More...

Lost.  

 _She is not Alexia, but she will come to me_ , he thinks, his fingers tightening around the blood encrusted handkerchief he holds _.  She can feel the drift as strongly as I._

_I saw it in her eyes._

_She is mine._

_She belongs in a Jaeger beside me._

_She and I are compatible._

The warden and the Marshall chat about inconsequential things while he waits for Sasha-about the latest Kaiju attacks which have crippled San Francisco and Hawaii, about the Jaeger the warden’s wards are constructing just several meters from where they sit, about the rumors of lost Jaeger funding in the U.S. and China-things as commonplace as discussions about the weather; he listens only absently, his ears turned to the door and his head tipped back against the blood still trickling from his nose.  

He waits, ever so patiently, ever so calmly.

He waits for her.

He will always wait for her, in the drift and in reality.

It is dusk when they finally rise from their chairs, exhaustion weighing heavily upon their limbs, and he scowls before slipping the handkerchief in his pocket and placing his hat once more upon his dark curls.  

She had not come.

Why?

“Come Aleksis,” the Marshall says, her voice gentle and her eyes full of understanding.  She had tried to help him, had tried and failed.

Again.

“She would not have been a suitable partner, after-all, I am sorry for having brought you so far,” she continues as they step from the warden’s office onto the muddy courtyard of the prison’s entryway.  

Aleksis Kaidanovsky summons a ghost of a smile and buttons his jacket.  “You could not have known, Marshall,” he says quietly, wearily.  “None of us ever know what the gods have in store for us.  Let us return to the Wall; there are better recruits to train.”  His smile slips into a wolfish grin as their car is brought to them and as they slip into the rear seat he chuckles.  “Perhaps we will find my new drift partner within their ranks?”

The Marshall rolls her eyes and settles her head upon the back of the seat at the thought of the many green trainees waiting for her sharp command back at the Magadan base.  

“I would not hold my breath, Aleksis,” she mutters with a sigh and a shake of her head.

Her gloved fingers tap upon the surface of the folder the warden saw fit to give them and she finally hands it to Kaidanovsky.  “Here,” she says with a small smile.  “Just in case.”

He takes it and glances at the name and picture marking the front.

 _Volokova, Sasha_ , is typed in a stiff font across the top right corner and her picture is clipped just below it.

Her eyes are cold, blank, the only source of color in her angular face and he shivers.

 _What is it about you Sasha?_ he thinks as the car carries them from Chernokozovo SIZO towards the airport and their plane destined for the far eastern shores of Siberia.   _Why do I see the drift in your eyes?_

_Who are you?_

He does not find the answer, even after his less than triumphant return to Magadan and the Wall.  

But he does not forget Sasha Volokova.

He does not forget the hateful curiosity he felt when he first saw her.  

At night he dreams.

He dreams of the drift-sometimes it is his and sometimes it is Alexia’s-but sometimes, and those are the nights he wakes in a cold sweat, he dreams of Sasha’s.

They are cold, full of pain and anger and fear.

And he wonders...

How he can see her so clearly.

A month goes by without him ever hearing any more of those who may be compatible with him, but he does not really mind.  None the Marshall has found have come close to Alexia and he is content to retire; he trains the fresh recruits Marshall Izhutin deems worthy of her program, brawls with the other rangers on base camp, those that aren’t out fighting the Kaiju, and he watches the road, ever hoping someone with black hair and red lips will come through the gates.  

A month goes by...

He is sleeping in his bunk when the Kaiju alert sounds-it’s a category three-nothing Moscow Rose cannot handle-but he still scrambles from his bed and shoves his feet in his boots.

Then, blinking sleep from his eyes, he throws his door open and-

Collides with someone far smaller than he.

Her blue eyes sparkle dangerously in the flashing alert lights placed intermittently in the hallway leading from his room and he is caught in their cold gaze.

She is dressed far better than the last time he saw her and her hair is short, caught in a tiny ponytail at the base of her skull.  

She is so small.  

“Sasha,” he chokes out, shocked and half-sure this is nothing but another insane dream.  “How-why-where did you come from?”

She does not glance away from him; she is frowning thoughtfully, causing her brows to draw together and her lips are pursed.

He towers over her, his hair a wild mess around his head and he realizes he hasn’t shaved his beard for several days now.

He feels wild, untamed.

Dangerous.

She swallows and as the Kaiju alert continues to sound in the distance and the ground beneath their feet takes on a distinctive vibration, she holds her hand out between their too-close bodies.

“Drift compatible, yes?” she says, her words clipped and her tone cold. He does not miss the excitement in her eyes though, nor the raging curiosity he cannot but help recognizing and understanding.  “That is what you said in the camp, correct?”

He nods but does not take her hand.

She sneers and arches a single brow, at that.

“I would like to try it, if you do not mind,” she continues and before he can stop her, she takes his hand and shakes it.  “Partners?”

His fingers tighten instinctively around hers and he smiles into his beard.  “Partners,” he growls as the sirens blare and a Jaeger is carried into battle above them.  “Welcome to the Jaeger Program Sasha Volokova.”  

Her cold smile disappears at his words and she actually lets out a soft laugh.

“Thank you,” she says quietly as he leads her to the Marshall’s quarters to await orders and news of the latest battle raging in the ocean just past their base.  

He simply smiles and nods, his hand a careful distance from the small of her back; she does not flinch from the faint contact, something he knew would be unusual a month ago.  

“Of course,” he says just as quietly, his smile growing as he studies her careful movements and the curiosity growing in her eyes.  She is his, in so many ways and he will understand why, so very soon.  “I knew you’d come to me, in the end.”  

She glances at him as they come to the Marshall’s quarters and there is surprise in her gaze.

Surprise and fear. 

“Why?” she asks and it is the most important question she will ever ask him.

He shrugs one shoulder and runs a hand through his beard.  “I found you in the drift Sasha, that day in Chechnya.”  He opens the Marshall’s door and waves her through; as she passes him, her elbow brushing his stomach and he shivers.  “Somehow, we are compatible.  Somehow…”

She is staring around her, wide eyed and as the category three Kaiju, dubbed Kavru by the Chinese, battles Moscow Rose upon the Marshall’s observation screen, she meets his gaze.

“Somehow, I’m yours,” she whispers, wonder in her voice and an instinctive fear in her gaze.

 _Yes,_ he thinks as they watch the battle raging before them.  _But why?  And_ how?

She is a mystery he will solve, one day, in the drift. 

He promises himself that. 

One day, he’ll have her.  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little shaky with the whole Russian prison system and the military nomenclature so bear with me. If there's anything blatantly wrong please let me know. 
> 
> -M


End file.
